Aspinall brought him a glass of sugared lemon water, silently padding about as if fearful of catching Lewrie's eye. He'd been that deferential and insubstantial ever since the first deaths. Lewrie had a sip, and pondered which onerous task he'd undertake first. Sighing, he plopped his feet atop his desk and slouched down in his chair, feet aspraddle and crotch aired; it was too warm and humid to cross ankles.
There was the matter of letters to write to the dead mens' kin, but at the moment he felt too enervated, and too steeped in death, to tackle that chore. Besides, he had exhausted all the stock platitudes he knew for grief, and it wouldn't feel quite right to pen an identical letter to all, like an Admiralty form for indentures or broken spars.
With so many dead, dying, or bedridden for weeks as they healed, there was the Watch-And-Quarter Bill to be amended, but Lewrie thought that would best be done in concert with Lt. Langlie and the midshipmen, who worked more closely with the hands than he. Perhaps have them all in for a "working" breakfast? There was a cook to be discovered among the crew, since poor old lamed Curcy had been one of the first to pass over, and the food issued since had been positively vile. Foster, the Yeoman of The Powder, would move up to Gunner's Mate to replace poor Mr. Bess, whom they'd buried the last morning; he'd find another man handy with canvas and needles to replace the Sailmaker's Mate, young Hickey. If things went on as badly as they had so far, fully half of those thirty sick men presently laid out fiat would die before the week was out, he realised, and the survivors wouldn't be worth tuppenny shit for two or three weeks more. Only two Ordinary and two Able Seamen were lost so far, but a fair number of the sick were the spryest topmen, the young and experienced hands a ship could not do without. And their replacements were half a world away, due on the next hired supply ship and not expected to arrive before the end of hurricane season, 'round October or November when the bulk of the "liners" returned from Halifax.
And always had first choice, damn them, their captains, and the seniority and favouritism that dictated the new mens' dispersement!
Not wishing to think about Watch-And-Quarter Bills, Lewrie had another sip of sweet lemon water and scowled, one eye asquint, at his desk… at his mail from England. After the first rushed reading, he wasn't so sure that he wanted to revisit those, either!
"Damme, pile it on, why don't You?" he muttered to God or Fate. "And thankee that trouble usually comes in threes!"
Plague, uselessness, and his personal life; each one a horror!
The letters from his father Sir Hugo had been the easiest stood, and had contained more pertinent information. What little he'd gotten from Caroline had been pure vitriol!
For it seemed that another of those damned, anonymous "My dear friend, you simply must know…" epistles had turned up on Caroline's doorstep, and this time whoever the Devil wrote them had known all and had told all regarding his visit to Theoni Connor's London town house, the day after Caroline had stormed off for Anglesgreen in high dudgeon; how Theoni had coached down to Sheerness and had cohabited as man and wife with him for an entire week before Proteus had sailed! The anonymous writer had even named the inn and the placement of their set of rooms, How early their candles were snuffed…!
So much for 'time heals all wounds, ' Lewrie glumly thought, once he'd read Caroline's lone, accusatory missive; and you can chuck 'least said and soonest mended' and 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' over the side, too!
And damn his father, but he wrote about as superciliously as he looked, with passages of sympathy interspersed with others bearing the tone of "I told you so!" or even sour amusement, as if writing one of his old cronies from the Hellfire Club or his first regiment about the peccadilloes of a total stranger, over which they could both crow!
"Sophie continues rather wan," Lewrie read, "though she has taken up of late with the company of Richard Oakes, one of Harry Embleton's fellow roisterers-one with some sense, at bottom, at the very least- who is a Captain of Cavalry in the local Yeomanry militia, and shapes well as a soldier. Pity he's a first son, not down for a set of colours like his brother Roger. He will, however, inherit substantial acreage, and may be thought a prize catch in these parts (dull as they may be). You are aware, though, that somewhere along the line, to Caroline's great Furor, you evidently gave permission for Sophie and your own First Officer, Lt. Anthony Langlie (a worthy unknown to me) to correspond. The Arrival of a letter from Jamaica is become a momentous Event in your household."
"And when the Devil did I do that?" Lewrie muttered to himself, vowing that he and young Langlie were due a heart-to-heart meeting, soonest! A rather loud one, he expected.
"Caroline, of course, dismissed the very idea at once, damning all Sailors as highly suspect, which vocal and insistent disapproval has, given Sophie's contrary Nature, made her the more eager to correspond. Just recall how your earlier disapproval of Harry Embleton almost drove her to elope with him to Gretna Green!"
And damn his father some more, but he'd found it so amusing that he simply had to relate how "… once Services were done two Sundays past, inspired perhaps by Rev. Goodacre's sermon on the forgiveness of Sins, your little Charlotte accosted all and sundry in the church yard with the pronouncement that 'My daddy's a sinner, and a filthy beast!' in her usual loud and piercing voice, extolling the congregation for their prayers. Embarassing, of course, but quite droll, you must admit. 'Out of the mouths of babes,' as it were, hey?"
Droll, hell! Lewrie thought, squirming anew in long-distance embarassment; and Caroline not so quick to shush her, either!
That was followed by a long plaint as to how he was being "cut" or snubbed by the local gentry, forced to spend more time on his farm- alone!-or being positively driven to flee up to London, where his new town house was shaping main-well, and plans for a gentlemens' hфtel and lodging club were coming together quite nicely, thankee very much, and the London Season was lively and provided him much distracting Solace and diverting Amusement, in their time of Troubles!
As to those Troubles, "… but your brother-in-law Governour is hellish exercised, nigh to choleric Frenzy, by your Faithlessness, and swears that he saw it coming years before, but could not dissuade you, or his Dear Sister, from your Folly. He now goes about swearing that, had he the Occasion to confront you visage contre visage as the French say, he would quite gleefully do you in for the Shame you have brought upon the Chiswick Name, the gentlemanly constricts of a Duel bedamned."
Lewrie had himself a skeptical snort over that threat; Governour was approaching twenty stone in weight, and getting out of bed lately was enough to turn his 'visage' choleric! Damn swords or pistols; if it came to that he'd challenge him to a foot race and see who keeled over first!
Back during the Revolution, when Governour was as lean and sinewed as a young panther, it would have been a different proposition, but good living and prosperity had taken its toll.
On that score, his father had further written "… when last I took my mid-day meal at the Red Swan Inn, the churl actually dared to banter me, your carcass not being immediately available. I quickly informed Mr. Chiswick that, should he desire an early Death, I was more than willing to oblige him. Did he desire Pistols at twenty paces, I would await his Seconds, though it was no affair of mine, and that his use of my Presence as an excuse for his disgraceful and boastful Behaviour would not be tolerated even by a gentleman of only the slightest acquaintance with you. I further informed him that I found all his Ranting to be due to your Absence, and not a thing he would do in your Vicinity. Then, following that slur, did he wish Aggrievance, I told him that I would meet him that Instant on the side lawn with a small-sword. Alan, the weather has been most cooperative this spring, and you should see how Verdant the countryside is become. The side yard, your lawn, and my new-sodded ones, have come up something wondrous to behold, do you care to know.